Insomniac

We are all standing single file waiting for our turn to plunge into the deep, dark abyss. 

At night I wonder, how often do two lives end in perfect unison on opposite sides of the world?

How often do parents die in unison with children? 

Who will I be united within that final instant of existence before the light drains from my eyes, and as I immediately cease to be, what other individual loses their identity and all they ever were? 

Whose corpse starts to decay in perfect rhythm with mine?

And as I wonder, I realize why I have restless nights. 

This poem is about: 
Me

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